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The men who took the role of father figure in my life in place of my father were interesting character studies in manhood. What I love most about them all is that they weren’t perfect, but they were very good men in their own right: honest, hardworking and capable of showing great empathy and care for humanity without provocation.
My Father was never in my life. What I knew of him was abusive and erratic. There were no life lessons except for how not to behave. He was physically abusive to my Mother and me and spent absolutely no time—I mean zero—with my baby sister in the role of being her father. That said, I turned out pretty OK. My Sister, she turned out OK too. I came through the storm with a kind heart, calm demeanor and a desire to have and nurture a family of my own. Sure, life didn’t go as planned with the whole “nurture the family thing” but ask most people I am a pretty level-headed, empathic guy.
The real father figures to me loved their families and the people they chose to spend their very valuable time with. They protected me and took the time to guide me. So here is to my several Dads for Fathers’ Day, the only Father’s Day card I can ever recall delivering.
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Ernest Washington: A gay African-American man at a time when being gay in New York wasn’t acceptable. My Uncle was the first male I remember interacting with as far back as my first conscious memories can recall. Uncle Ernest was always kind and babysat me while my parents worked. Always gentle, never raised his voice. Uncle Ernest was my first adult male interaction in life. About a year ago, I heard he had a stroke, and we had lost connection for some time over the years. With family members, I tracked him down and called him. He sounded the same and he didn’t. I needed to call him and tell him “thank you”, that “I loved him” and that I am grateful for the care he provided and hopefully he was somewhat proud of me. I also told him that he fed me so many banana pancakes as a child, I have a strong aversion to them. If you mix banana’s and pancake batter, I might go postal on you, I’m just sayin’. What I love most about my Uncle? His sexuality didn’t matter, only his heart did. And his heart was huge towards me, his nephew.
Richard Washington: My late Mother’s Brother. My Uncle Richard gave me my style, my swagger and showed me the importance of dressing well and looking your best. My Grandmother and Uncle always saw to it that from the time I was 10, I was in tailored suits. I played handball in the park across the street from Queens College with my Uncle and his friends, We played marathon sessions where we would start playing at 10 AM and the last game would be 9 or 10 at night. My Uncle showed me how to party, what music to play and most of all how to treat the ladies. He was always good with the ladies. Always a gentle-man. He opened doors, he bought nice gifts. Richard was never a player, per se, but he alway had his eyes on the finest ladies and he knew how to treat them.
My Uncle was more like a big brother and we teased each other incessantly. He never raised his voice, nor did he ever raise his hand at me.
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My Uncle Richard taught me how to drive and allowed me to drive his reddish-burgundy 1977 Skylark to my driver’s test, and alone when required. The level of trust was huge because he cherished his chariot. My Uncle was more like a big brother and we teased each other incessantly. He never raised his voice, nor did he ever raise his hand at me. A quiet man, my uncle carried the dignity of my grandparents (specifically my grandmother) in his spirit. I would always tease my uncle and he always took it, except for this one time. The big joke between us was the fact that the short name for Richard was “Dick”. First, never, ever call a Black Man “Dick” even if that is the short version or you’re in the Country Club, never yell, “Hey, Dick!” I called my Uncle Dick every chance I got for about 2 weeks. Eventually, I got tired of these swift little kicks he would provide to my shin’s in the same spot, every time. Needless to say, I never called him Dick again. His reaction to this was priceless.
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James Edward Felton, Jr: My Uncle James. He would tell you he was a thug. And in reality, he ran with some of the greatest criminals in Harlem, specifically Bumpy Johnson who was a childhood friend of his. Uncle James was a son of Harlem. He wore it like a brand ambassador and always said it with pride no matter where he was in the world. I remember at Thanksgiving he would lead the prayer and always include a memorable line where he said, “My wife could have married the preacher or the thug, she chose the thug”. Uncle James was colorful, larger than life. An Army Veteran, he stood six feet tall and wore a cowboy hat that became his trademark in business.
During the riots in Newark, my Uncle James cleaned up the City while other people burned it down. With a mop, a bucket and a floor polishing machine, he created a multi-million dollar company called Ebon Services International Inc. In the darkest part of Newark, NJ during its roughest years, he garnered the respect of his community, lead the Lions Club, 100 Black Men, the Free Masons, you name it. He hired from his community, he hired hundreds of people who were recently released from jail and gave them good living-wage jobs. I learned my business acumen from my Uncle James. He had pictures of himself with Presidents Bush, Reagan, Jimmy Carter and others, because he was politically connected and invited to every Presidential inauguration no matter which party won.
The biggest lesson I learned from my Uncle James was love. He literally loved my Aunt to death (his own), he was loyal to her, devoted to her, and worshiped her. She was the only person who could “yank his chain” meaning, that no matter what was happening in the office, or in life, all she had to say was, “JAMES” and he would literally jump for this 5’3 woman. He, in turn, would yell, “QUEEN, or QUEENIE” and she would, in turn, respond quickly and lovingly. Through thick and thin from poverty to wealth to death. They were together in love, complete and absolute love which proved to me that it’s possible. That kind of love can be attained and maybe, just maybe I can have that, too.
Joseph Fleming, Esq. was a New York-based attorney and a former member of the Black Panther party. Like so many from that generation, the brother turned his activism to a law degree. And he was good at it, the best I had ever seen. In the cadre of Black lawyers in the 80’s, 90’s and beyond this man was an icon. Silently powerful, small in stature but exerted a quiet cool that was Miles Davis-like, especially in the Courtroom. In my years of working with him in his practice, he never ever yelled. In fact, he talked softly, so softly, you sometimes had to strain to listen. Only years later did I realize that was his best tactic. It made you pay attention. He broke the law down for me, and areas of the law he didn’t know, we studied it and learned how to practice.
In working with him I developed a love of massive contracts. Give me a 50-page construction, sports, or entertainment contract and I can rip it to shreds. Through him, I learned if you have an opportunity and have no clue how you would execute it….you take it anyway and learn while you are doing it. Our cases spanned the who’s who of Black, Latino and even White business and intellectuals in NYC. Some of the people who came through there were incredible: Herbert & Sylvia Woods (Sylvia’s in Harlem), Puff Daddy, The Family of Malcolm X, Butterfly McQueen (from Gone With the Wind), Al Sharpton, Adam Clayton Powell III and the list goes on and on.
To this day, there is no room that I walk into where I can’t solve a problem. I learned from Joseph how to sit in a room with several people arguing a point, listen, take notes, leaning back, looking cool . . . and then . . . settle the matter.
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Most of all, I learned how to negotiate. To this day, there is no room that I walk into where I can’t solve a problem. I learned from Joseph how to sit in a room with several people arguing a point, listen, take notes, leaning back, looking cool . . . and then . . . settle the matter. The funniest things that happened to both of us is that we somewhat looked alike, we both wore beards (I was emulating him) and every white judge thought I was him. He loved what he did with a passion and he taught me that most lawyers were deal breakers, he taught me how to be the deal maker. I will never forget those lessons as long as I live. And Joseph was the most incredible family man, but most of all, he was yet another man who loved the ground his wife walked on. Their love affair I am sure surpassed his all-too-early demise from cancer. When I heard he had died, I just prayed and prayed and thanked God for the chance to have known that great man.
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I learned that men need determination and you can’t quit when you have a goal even when others think you’re crazy.
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I learned that my Dads where passionate men, especially in regards to the mates that they chose to love. They were good husbands, hard workers, and capable of nurturing another young and impressionable man. I learned that men need determination and you can’t quit when you have a goal even when others think you’re crazy. I learned that as men, we are capable of complete and utter devotion to our children, our wives, and our friends. I learned that the lives that are always valued, aren’t always the ones that make the obituary column, but the lives quietly and powerfully lived in truth and in spirit. I learned that I was raised by great men of stature with gravitas beyond measure. I learned that being a man means to spread love, defend and honor the people who trust you and need you, that it’s not brute strength, but strength of heart, mind, and faith in your higher power.
As for my biological father, Frank Madison, Sr.: Happy Father’s Day, and thank you for four things (1 ) impregnating my Mom at that specific place and time so I could be here as a man; (2) For leaving us when you did so that there would be peace in our home; (3) for turning me into a man much younger than I should have been, but I did your job better than you ever could; and last but not least, (4) thank you for my little Sister and for failing in your job so that she would measure the men in her life against me and not the watered down example that you provided. I am not angry nor am I mad at you. Every man doesn’t measure up. You didn’t so I could. Thank you for stepping aside. I am grateful to you because it made my journey what it is today. My journey isn’t perfect but I am authentic and I have an open heart.
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Photo credit: Getty Images
Wonderful story! Great men!
Thank you Larissa, you are very kind. I realized that I never said thanks to these men. And I never sent them Fathers Day cards. It was time. I am grateful that you read it.